


Pineapple

by lazy_daze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1414180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_daze/pseuds/lazy_daze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam and Harry in a bar F-L-I-R-T-ING. Because <a>wearecities</a> finished an essay. <33</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pineapple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wearecities (falsetto)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsetto/gifts).



Katie is only about fifteen minutes late when Liam gets the text – he’s not even worried, at that point, the Victoria line is delayed, there’d been announcements all over the tube, she could easily have been getting the Victoria line, maybe she lived in Brixton – the point was, Liam’s only had to wave the bartender off once.

The text puts the kibosh on any tube-related reasoning, though, because it reads: “soz liam something came up ill ring you l8r or sth tho. katie x”

Well then. Liam can’t say he’s particularly surprised or very upset – this is the third blind date his sister has sent him on, and they’ve all been rather excruciating, so he's perhaps a little bit relieved, but still. Being stood up isn't anyone's specific idea of a good time.

He catches the bartender's eye, from where he's sat at the polished wooden bar. It's a nice pub, he might as well have one drink before he slopes off home to his sister's pitying eyes. He doesn't need the pity, he's fine, absolutely _fine_ , but she does fret so.

"Um, vodka and coke, please," he says. "And a packet of crisps."

"What kind?" asks the bartender, sounding distracted, eyes flitting hopefully down the bar to where someone is laughing raucously.

"Salt and vinegar," says Liam.

"'Kay," she says, and pours his drink so quickly it sloshes over onto the bar and near throws the crisps at him, grabbing his fiver before faux-casually hurrying down to the other end of the bar, where a guy with a wild mop of hair appears to be holding court.

Liam sucks idly on his lemon slice. Even the bartender thinks he's the boring option. Of course.

He's two swigs and some deep contemplation of his melting icecubes into a melancholic funk when he's startled out of it by someone sitting down with a flourish on the barstool next to him. A flourish so dramatic they overbalance off it and crash into Liam before Liam steadies them back onto the stool. Well, him, not them.

"Wow, sorry!" says the guy. "Hi!" 

He has a big smile and a ripped up bit of blue checked shirt wound around his head. He's also the guy who was holding court at the other end of the bar a bit earlier. Liam looks at him, then narrows his eyes behind him, but he isn't being trailed by a gaggle of admirers.

"Um," says Liam. "Hi." He neary adds, 'Can I help you?' but thinks last minute it might be a bit rude. It's not this guy's fault Liam's in One Of Those Moods.

"Hi!" the guy says back again, then pauses. Liam has to stop himself saying "Hi!" again on reflex. They could be here all night. He makes a quizzical face instead.

"Oh, yeah. I'm Harry," says Harry.

"I'm Liam," says Liam, still none the wiser. "Um--?" he adds, meaning it as a politer version of 'Can I help you?'

"Oh, sorry," Harry says, smiling widely. His teeth are even and white and he has dimples and very odd hair, and Liam has no idea why he's talking to him. "Just thought you looked like you could do with some company."

"Er," says Liam. "Well, sort of, I suppose."

"Sorry if you're just, like, waiting for someone, I can piss off," says Harry, settling more comfortably on his stool and looking like he has no intention of pissing off anywhere.

"Oh, no, you're alright," says Liam. "I mean, I was, but now, well, I'm not."

Harry's brow furrows, like he's confused, then his face goes all terribly sad, then he smirks. It's a fascinating mix of expressions; Liam sorts of wants to poke Harry's face, which is not an urge he can say he's ever had about anyone before.

"Who in the world would stand up a handsome lad like you?" Harry asks, shaking his head, and Liam feels himself unexpectedly go red. Harry looks like he's won the lottery.

"Oh, well, it's okay," says Liam a bit nonsensically. "I mean, she seemed nice, but I don't think she was - my type, so it was probably for the best, to be fair." He's not sure why he's sharing all this with a relative stranger, but he's sort of a sucker for someone showing interest in him, especially if the someone is a handsome lad apparently flirting with him. Liam's not the best at flirting, so he may be wrong, but he's, like, eighty percent sure.

"Not your type - ah, well, because of the _she_ part?" Harry asks, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. This should not be charming. But still. Ninety percent sure.

"No," says Liam, and Harry's face falls, dejected. "I mean, not _no_ , but not yes - well, you know, I mean like, you know, either." Which is not the very first time he's come out to someone as bisexual, but possibly the clumsiest.

Harry nods slowly, though, then gives a big cheesy wink. "Gotcha," he says.

"You are very--" Liam pauses.

"Attractive? Charming? Dashing?"

"Well, yes. But I was going to say strange."

Harry nods sagely. "It's been said. But, you know, you're strange, too."

"I am not!" splutters Liam. "I am absolutely normal."

Harry shakes his head. "No way. Who lets some weirdo chat them up for ages without making an excuse to leave? Who stares at their icecubes like they hold all the secrets to the universe?"

Liam's laughing, he can't help it. "Wow. Okay. Well, maybe I am a bit strange. But in like. The Strange Olympics, you’re definitely the gold medal. I’m, I dunno, bronze, or maybe just missed out on the podium, like."

Harry grins at him approvingly. "Who gets the silver, then?"

Liam shrugs. "Buggered if I know. They're probably more interesting than me, though, you should go find them."

"Nahhh," says Harry, drawing out the word. "Think I'm fine here. Keeping lonely handsome boys company."

"I'm not lonely!" Liam protests, feeling himself go red again, feeling wrong-footed and a tiny bit suspicious but mostly bashfully pleased. 

"Well not, _now_ ," says Harry, rolling his eyes. "And I notice you didn't protest the handsome part."

"I--!" says Liam. "Oh, fuck off."

"No, it's good, I like it! Bit of self confidence, very attractive in a man." He gives another wink.

"Is this how you usually spend your Friday nights? Rescuing stood up fools in pubs?"

Harry shrugs. "Nope. But you looked interesting and fit and my friends had gone home and the bartender was giving me the eye, so I thought I'd come bother you. Best decision I made all week, since my breakfast on Monday, anyway."

Liam blinks. The bartender had certainly been giving him the stink eye for a while, though now as he glances over, she gives a resigned sort of shrug, rolls her eyes, then gives him a discreet thumbs-up.

Liam shakes his head. "What did you have for breakfast on Monday?"

"A whole pineapple," Harry says promptly, and Liam can't tell if he's joking or not.

"Nice," he says, anyway. "Gotta get your five-a-day."

"I always do," Harry says with a leer, even though as far as Liam can tell there's no actual innuendo.

"Well," he says, "thanks, I suppose. I think - um. I think it was a good choice, too. Talking to me, not the pineapple, though that too. I mean. Maybe I was a little bit lonely. Really tiny little bit."

Harry beams at him, and Liam feels all warm and funny. "I would say that's my good deed for the day, but it was quite a selfish decision, if I'm honest, because, like I said, fit. Anyway, I'm glad it's worked out well for the both of us."

He darts in, then, taking Liam by surprise with a soft little peck of a kiss right on Liam's lips.

"Oh," says Liam, dazedly, touching his mouth as Harry sits back, still smiling. He doesn't know if he should go back in for a proper snog - that is suddenly very much what he wants - but Harry jumps up off his seat instead.

"I have to be getting home, lovely Liam," he says, "but give me a ring! No more lonely Friday nights, okay?" He pops forward and tucks a square of cardboard into Liam's shirt pocket, kisses him _again_ , then is out of the door in a stumbling whirl of long coat and long legs.

"You have a business card?" Liam half-yells after him in disbelief, taking it out his pocket. It isn't Harry's business card, it's some random other person's - Natasha something or other - that Harry his swiped from the prize-draw jar of business cards on the bar, scribbled the number and email out and put HARRY in all caps and presumably his own number. There's a wonky drawing of a pineapple on the back. Liam doesn't know when he had time to do that, but he smiles anyway.

As Friday night blind dates go, it turned out rather well.


End file.
